Revelations
by Persephoniii
Summary: En route to work, Aaliyah finds herself suddenly, inexplicably, fifty years in the past. Being black is a liability here, but evidently not as bad as being a mutant. But mutants did not exist in her world's history, so whose past was she in? X-men: First Class. Charles/OC
1. Chapter 1

_**T**__his was not the library._

In fact, this wasn't even the _street_ she was supposed to _be_ on-! Clearly she had taken a wrong turn, but…

Aaliyah spun around, searching for a familiar landmark; a traffic light, a _bus stop_…something. _Anything_.

_For the love of God-_

A quick glance at her cellphone confirmed she was already late for work. By approximately 7 minutes. _Jesus Christ_. She shrugged both her purse and laptop bag more securely over her shoulder, and looked once more to the street sign before of her.

No matter how many times she looked, it did not register. There was nothing familiar about it. _She didn't recognize it, had never even heard of it-_

Was this _normal?_ _Was it normal to forget the route you traveled daily to work_? She sat down on one of the benches near the sidewalk and tried not to panic. Clearly..._clearly_ this was an extreme case of the (many) withdrawal symptoms of being off of her anti-depressants. The dizziness and memory loss would eventually fade, her doctor had assured her_. And they had_.

_Well okay, no_. They hadn't, not really. And she'd _never_ forgotten an entire _street_-!

She looked again at her phone. _2:12pm_. She hadn't been late for work in the entire 3 years she'd been employed there… And now she'd not only have to call her manager to let him know she'd be late, but also provide a _reason_ for said lateness. Her fingers were already sliding through the screen of her contacts list for the library's number. She put the phone to her ear.

A few moments later it chirped.

Frowning, she tried again.

Another chirp. _No service_, the screen read.

"Okay, seriously?" she exclaimed. She'd just paid the bill like what, 3 days ago? Four days ago? Why did she not have service? She rebooted the phone. It went through all the motions of starting up, and then:

_No service_, it read.

Aaliyah laid her head in her hands, trying not to cry. She'd been an emotional wreck in the weeks since stopping the meds. _Another side effect_, the doctor had assured. _Nothing to worry about._ She took a few deep breaths, willing her heart to slow. _Okay_, she thought. Maybe…maybe someone would let her use their phone? She felt herself grimace. She _hated_ when others asked to use her phone, disliked the thought of someone else's face pressed against her screen and frankly couldn't imagine anyone else being thrilled at the prospect, either. But she hadn't seen an actual working pay phone in over two years and-

She looked around.

Surprisingly, it wasn't even really crowded. Traffic was barely a trickle and the few people walking around were-

She blinked. She hadn't noticed before, but every car currently on the road was an older model. Was there something going on today? A car show? She hadn't remembered hearing anything about it, and lord knew how Jenny loved to talk. Her roommate seemed to be the go to person for news around the city, but she hadn't mentioned anything having to do with _cars_. And not _just_ cars, she realized suddenly. Even the people were dressed differently. Like something off of a _Me-TV_ or _TV land _program. Whatever was going on, they were really going all out for it, she thought. Catching sight of a girl who looked her age, she pushed aside the familiar anxiousness of speaking with strangers, and cautiously approached her.

The girl looked up, and she was struck by the fact that this girl _actually looked like something_ from the _Patty Duke_ show. Up close, the details were impressive; the hairstyle, the makeup, even the high waisted pants. They'd pulled out all the stops for this.

"Excuse me? Hi, um…yeah." She had never been good with strangers. "I'm really sorry to bother you, but could I possibly borrow your phone? Mine isn't working and I need to call-." The girl wrinkled her nose at her.

"What are you on about?" she asked, in a crisp British accent.

"I think I might be lost," Aaliyah explained, trying to ignore the girl's continued scowl. "I need to-"

"And you want me to actually let you into my home?" the girl laughed. "I didn't realize you people could even use a phone."

Aaliyah felt her mouth drop open. _She couldn't have meant it the way it sounded._ But the girl was already marching quickly away, throwing a few wary glances over her shoulder. At a loss, she pulled out her phone and tried again. _No signal_. Sighing, she tried rebooting again and stared up at the sky, frowning. It was dreary and gray. Not even 20 minutes ago the sun had been shining brightly, but now it didn't look like it had been out at all. There was a humidity in the air too, a certain chill that hadn't been there when she'd left her apartment this morning. She checked the weather daily and dressed accordingly, and this was on the complete opposite side of the spectrum of what it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be in the 90s today, sunny. But right now it felt more like low 60s and looked like rain-

Okay and _why_ was she thinking about the weather? Irritated, she pushed away the random thoughts and forced herself to focus on the matter at hand. Approaching anyone else didn't seem an inviting prospect. There was a line of shops right behind her, though. Maybe one of them would let her use a phone? Most businesses didn't, but it was worth a try, at least. She headed towards the one nearest to her, stopping suddenly, _sharply_, catching sight of a sign next to the door:

_No blacks, no Irish, no dogs_.

What the hell? Was this…was this a _joke_? She stepped back, eyeing the name of the store.

She didn't recognize it.

…along with everything else on the street. Habit had her taking out her phone and snapping a picture. The sign itself was basic; a nondescript white sign with bold black lettering. The closest thing she'd ever seen to it had been years and years ago, in her 8th grade history book. There'd been a black and white picture of a public pool with a similar sign, except it had simply read 'No coloreds.' She'd felt a stark disconnect looking at the picture; sadness certainly, or as much as a 13 year old at the time could muster for such a thing, but nothing she could specifically relate to. Signs like that didn't exist anymore, not like they did in that black and white picture. Even now standing before this one, she wasn't sure what to feel, except that they were apparently taking this reenactment thing very, very seriously. Even the stores themselves, now that she was paying attention, did not look the way she was used to seeing-

She squinted, staring closer at the architecture, before letting her gaze fall back to the window of the bakery she stood in front of.

Through the window, a balding worker, who had up till that moment seemed occupied in sweeping, paused to stare at her. It was not a friendly look. He held the broom like a brandished weapon, and she felt something icy travel up her spine. Almost against her will, she felt herself backing away.

Against her arms, she felt the first few drops of rain hit.

O

Aaliyah pulled her purse closer and wiped at her face. She'd been sitting in the bar— _Pub_, she corrected, for that's what the sign out front had said, if there was even any difference— for over an hour. She was starting to get looks from the staff. They hadn't told her to leave..._yet_. But then that might have been because she was already sitting in the very back, she acknowledged bitterly. She drew a shaky breath.

There was something very, very wrong, and the conclusion she was coming to was possibly more troubling than the outcome itself. The cloths, the vehicles, the very _looks_ she'd been receiving- it was like stepping back into the pre-civil rights era. Well, pre-civil rights era in the _UK_, because everyone she'd come across sounded either British or Scottish. Not knowing enough about regional accents, she couldn't differentiate much beyond that. But she had yet to hear even one American accent…not that that would have helped, either. Because being black in pre-civil rights America was probably even worse than being black _here_-

"Um, excuse me..?"

She looked up, dull-eyed, at the waitress. She was young and blonde and looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Aaliyah braced herself for the words she already knew were coming.

"If you aren't gonna order anything, we're gonna have to ask you to leave…"

_Of course they were_. She was honestly surprised they'd let her stay this long. She slipped the handle of her purse over her arm, grabbed her laptop bag in the other hand. The only money she had on her were her debit and credit cards. Neither of which would be much use here. _It had to be a dream_. A hallucination. _Something_. There was no way she could suddenly just _be_ in the past-! And not _just_ the past, but the past of an entirely different country at that! A sob escaped her.

"Wait," the waitress said, touching her arm and startling her. Lost in her confusion, she had forgotten the girl was even still there. "Don't move, ok?" the waitress hurried off, and Aaliyah stared after her, wondering if she was going to get the manager. _Oh God_, was that where she was going? She felt the slow threads of panic pull at her. But the girl was already returning, a tiny teacup on a plate in her hand.

"Here. You look like you need it," the waitress said. The cup was hot against her skin, almost scalding, and she didn't realize how cold she was until she held it.

"Thank you," she whispered. The girl smiled. "Just take your time drinking it and they shouldn't bother you." It wasn't until after she was gone that she realized the woman had sounded American. _And was this tea free?_ She assumed it was, but she didn't want to drink it and have to worry about paying for it when she had no cash-

_No cash._ She would not be able to get a hotel. And then her mind latched onto another, more frightening thought: that even if she had had cash, it would have been a completely different currency, with dates and serial numbers probably not matching anything from this era-

Automatically she pulled out her phone to google it, only just realizing that without service she had no internet access. More importantly, internet had _not yet been created_. …or if it _had_, it was probably in some beta form and not even remotely _useable_- She laid her head down on the table. She could try to find a homeless shelter, but it was already dark out, and not knowing anything about the city or even where she was (_or when_), it didn't seem safe wandering out in the dark. Alone. In a racially charged era. Not just as a black female, but as a female in general-

_Oh God_. _How had she gotten here?_ Was this even real? Was she dreaming? She had to be. This was another possible side effect of being off her meds. Delusions of grandeur, split personalities, _going crazy_-

"Hello." A voice said. Her panic fueled thoughts screeched to a halt. There was a man standing at the edge of the table across from her. She didn't move. Was this the manager? He wore khaki slacks and a brown tweed jacket. Another customer maybe?

"Do you mind if I sit here? I rather like the view from this table."

_What 'view'_? She thought. There was nothing but a wall on the other side of her. But the man was already pulling out a chair, folding himself carefully into it. She watched him nervously.

"Lovely evening, isn't it?" He flashed a smile. She found herself unable to return it.

It wasn't lovely at all, she wanted to say, and she wished that he'd leave. But she only nodded politely. Was it normal for random strangers to do this? She frequented Starbucks on her lunch breaks, (everyone did) there was limited seating and she often ended up sharing tables with strangers. But they were both usually on laptops or tablets or phones, and rarely even glanced up at each other. Was it weird that this man was _here_, sitting at a table in the back of a pub when there were plenty of open areas near the front? _Not weird_, she thought silently, anxiously. Not in and of itself, anyway. But this era— sometime well before the 70's at least, based on the clothing— was not 2014, and white men did not simply sit with black females the way this man was currently doing.

"Are you lost?" the man asked suddenly. He had leaned forward, head tilted to the side, fingers lightly brushing his temple.

"I…yes." It was automatic, her response, and she instantly regretted it. It was bad enough that she was indeed lost, but admitting it to a stranger was possibly dangerous-

"Where are you trying to be?" he pressed quietly. She opened her mouth, then shut it. Her mind was suddenly blank. What was she supposed to say? She was trying to be home. Possibly even at work. Anywhere that wasn't wherever, _whenever_ she currently was-! It beyond the realm of possibility, like something out of a science fiction novel. And the more she thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed. This was a dream. She was dreaming. Like when she was a kid, and would dream about using the bathroom, and wake up to find she'd wet the bed-

Her eyes burned. The tears felt scalding hot, and she turned away, embarrassed. She should have never gotten off of her medicine, she thought again. When she woke up, she would remedy that-

"Oh dear," the man mumbled. She saw him from the corner of her eyes, fumbling through his jacket pocket. After a while he seemed to find what he was looking for. A handkerchief. She hadn't seen a handkerchief since she was 5 years old. Her mother would dress her up for church in a frilly, itchy dress and uncomfortable shoes, and then slide a single peppermint (or butterscotch), a quarter for offering, and a lacy handkerchief into her tiny, matching purse.

He shook it out a few times before offering it. After a moment, she accepted it, mumbling a thanks and smoothing it awkwardly in her hand. Surely he didn't expect her to use it? Even as a child she hadn't liked the idea of blowing her nose in a piece of materiel. Not to mention the amount of germs that might linger even after going through a wash-

"It wasn't my intention to upset you," the man said, sounding apologetic. "It's just that you don't appear to be from around here." He cast a surreptitious glance at her shirt, at the gold bracelets stacked on her wrist. "You're American, aren't you?"

She nodded, she didn't think she'd be able to speak around the lump in her throat.

"We don't get many tourists this time of year, you see." He smiled again. The pads of his fingers were back at his temple. "I'd like to help, if you'll allow it."

She stared through watery eyes. _Help_, yes she did need help-

But he seemed to think she was simply a tourist, probably in need of directions. That would do her no good, unless he could provide directions back to 2014- An image of the sign flashed again in her head. Across from her, the man offered his hand and gave her a small smile.

"What is your name?" he asked softly. She clutched the handles of her purse briefly, uneasily, before leaning over, lightly shaking his extended hand. His was warm and dry compared to her clammy ones.

"Aaliyah Norwood." He repeated the name, seeming genuinely pleased.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Norwood. My name is Charles Xavier."

O

I'm new to the X-men section of this site, so if something like this has been done before, please forgive me!


	2. Chapter 2

o

**I**t was dark when she woke up.

She leaned over, squinting groggily through a sleepy haze, trying to make out the glowing numbers of her alarm clock_. _

It wasn't there.

So she stretched out a hand, feeling for the lamp on her nightstand. But after patting air for a few moments, she was awake enough to realize now that _that_ wasn't there, either. She jolted up, and everything came back in a rush.

_That's right, _she remembered_. This wasn't her room_. This wasn't her house. _This wasn't her time_. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, suddenly unsure. _What now? _The words echoed through her mind. She'd woken up _still_ _here_…wherever 'here' was. If this actually _was_ a dream, (and she was becoming increasingly sure it _wasn't_) it was an elaborate one, full of details and particulars that she would otherwise have no way of knowing on her own. The building architecture, for instance, could be explained away as having been seen on TV or in a picture. So could the cars and clothes.

_But the sign_…

The presence of the sign discredited that theory, because it had specifically stated that blacks _and_ Irish weren't allowed, and she hadn't realized the Irish had been grouped in the same category as blacks. Irish were white, so why would other white people hate them? It didn't make sense. Was it possible she'd picked up this detail subconsciously and then fabricated it into this…this _dreamality_? Or whatever 'this' was? Because honestly the idea of actual time travel itself was…

_Illogical? Ridiculous? Fake?_ She rubbed her eyes. And more specifically, _time travel_ didn't explain why she'd ended up somewhere in the UK and not in her _hometown_-

Jesus Christ. And if this _were_ real, (hypothetically, of course), then by now people back home would have noticed her absence, right? Her boss, definitely. And Jenny, too.

…_well maybe not_. Her roomie wasn't all that observant, to be honest. And how long had it been, exactly? Her shift at the library would have ended at 8pm, but since there was no clock currently in the room (that she could see, anyway) she had no idea if it was even still the same day.

Back home, her parents lived the next city over; they wouldn't immediately worry if they didn't hear from her for a few days. …she texted her little brother daily, though. And her friend Shanique routinely texted or called throughout the day, too. But even over a matter of hours, failure to respond to a text message or call warranted no immediate suspicion.

It could be _days_ before anyone noticed_, _she realized_._ And even when they _did_ notice, what could they do? File a missing persons report? Form a local search party?

_They would never find her._

It was a sobering, chilling thought. She needed to figure something out. _Quickly_. Her fingers clutched at the rumpled bedding around her. Then too, there was another, more immediate problem. That man, wherever he was, would be expecting some sort of explanation, something that _didn't_ sound as unbelievable as what had apparently occurred. And what was she supposed to tell him? What was she supposed to tell_ anyone-_?!

"_My name is_ _Charles Xavier_," he'd said. And despite having the same name as a comic book character— or rather _because_ of it— she'd felt some of the mounting hysteria ease. It was something familiar at least, the name, even if the person attached to it was a total stranger.

When he'd risen from the table, she hadn't questioned him, had simply allowed him to gently take her elbow and usher her out of the pub and into the drizzling rain outside. It'd been a nice little interlude of _no thinking_, where she floated along on auto-pilot-

It was the only excuse she had for blindly following a stranger she'd literally just met. It was…disturbing, actually. Completely unlike her, and now she was _here, _wherever 'here' was_-_

Across the room, now that her eyes had adjusted, she could see a sliver of light. She crossed the room on the balls of her feet, wincing at the coldness against the wood floor, and peeked out the drapes. Outside was pale and grey. It'd been like that yesterday, too. She'd heard about London being grey and cool. She didn't think _this_ was London, though, because the city she'd found herself in yesterday had seemed more small scale. She opened the drapes a little, enough to let in light to find her shoes and bags.

_God_ it was cold. Like, freezing cold, and she cursed her choice of clothing. The cotton capris and thin flyaway cardigan worked fine for the weather back home, but _here_-

Her eyes burned and she pushed the thought away. No falling apart just yet. She slid her feet into her shoes, which unfortunately were heels, and tried not to let them click against the floor as she tip toed to the door.

It was dark. And quiet. Was that guy out there somewhere? She shut the door back, uncertain. It seemed rude to wander uninvited in someone else's home, especially someone she didn't know. But even more daunting was the prospect of being questioned by him and not having any sort of logical explanation-

She went to her purse and dug out her phone.

_No signal_.

And the clock and date display still showed June 25 2014, 2:12pm for some reason. She felt herself frown. But that couldn't be right. It had been dark when she'd left the pub with the Xavier man, and now it was light outside so _clearly_ some amount of time had passed. Why was her phone not registering that? Aaliyah felt dizzy.

The clock wasn't working on her phone. _OH MY GOD when had it stopped working-?! _

When there had ceased to be any cell phone towers around, she realized.

She dropped the phone. It hit the floor with a crash that jarred her out of her shock. No cell phone towers here, so her display was frozen at the last time it had received a signal. Why had she not noticed this before-?!

She wanted to crawl back into the bed and cry. Actually she _was_ crying. It was stupid and silly and probably even a little shallow, and she _should have realized_ that _of course_ that part of her phone wouldn't work either, but for some reason the loss of the date and time function made her feel truly stranded. She swiped at her face and knelt down to retrieve her phone.

Maybe…maybe if she went back to the place where she'd initially shown up in…maybe there was like, a portal. Or something. Like that _Stargate_ show. Maybe if she retraced her steps…?

Except that it was impossible to tell exactly where she'd started out at, because she hadn't immediately noticed any change in her surroundings. It could have been several blocks before she'd initially realized anything was off, and she didn't remember how to get back to be perfectly honest-

She turned off the phone and slid it back into her purse. There was no telling how much longer the battery would last, and as it was, it was useless.

Out of habit, she found herself making the bed. It was trivial, all things considered, but it seemed rude to leave it undone. And if she were completely honest, it gave her something to do, a reason to stall before heading out into the world again. Before facing reality.

She fluffed the pillow, bracelets jangling, and placed it directly in the center at the head of the bed. It was a wrought iron twin size bed, almost industrial in design compared to her queen at home. And then, before she lost her nerve, she grabbed her purse and laptop bag and tried to walk quietly to the bedroom door_. Or as quietly as three inch heels would allow_.

Outside the room was even darker. She was used to the glow of glade plugins, of electrical devices charging on countertops with red or green lights…even a microwave clock display, but here there was absolutely nothing but darkness. It was suffocating, and against her will she felt herself stopping, breath labored. She clutched at her bags and tried to remember why she'd thought it was a good idea to-

"Miss Norwood?"

Aaliyah dropped her purse.

There was a rustling, the thumping sound of rubber soles against the floor, and then the room was dimly lit. She shut her eyes against the glare.

"I didn't mean to startle you," the man – Charles Xavier – was saying. He had scooped up her purse in one hand, ushering her towards a small kitchen with the other. He pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit. After a moment she did, nervously thumbing the strap of her laptop bag.

He turned to her and smiled. "I was just about to put the kettle on. Perhaps you'd like to join me?" He set her purse on the countertop next to him. _Away from her_, she noticed.

"I'm rubbish at cooking," he continued, seemingly oblivious to her silence. "I hope you don't mind tins-" he set the kettle on the stove and began pulling saucers and cups from the cabinets. "And then we can perhaps speak more about your situation. Without you skulking away, yes?"

She ducked her head, embarrassed. Maybe it was the accent, but it sounded like she'd just been chided. "I'm sorry…" she trailed off. He waved away her apologies.

"Quite alright. I'm sure you'd have eventually realized you were going in the wrong direction. "

She turned sharply to him, but he had already moved away. He seemed momentarily preoccupied with his task, which gave her time to think. Except that she _couldn't_ think. Her mind had completely blanked. He'd seemed under the impression that she was a tourist…maybe she could use that? Say that she was lost because she was a tourist; that she'd gotten separated from her party-

But that still didn't help in the long run, because she had no money, no passport, which she'd have to produce if he suggested taking her to an airport. She _did_ have her license, but it showed an address that didn't exist yet and a year that was…in the future. They'd probably be seen as fake. Even teenagers were able to come up with fake IDs. Speaking of which, she needed to find out the date in the _here and now_. If she knew the year at least, she could-

A cup was placed before her. There was a tea bag in it, and the water he'd poured was boiling. She picked it up gingerly by the handle and blew at it, keeping her eyes averted. And then when the silence stretched too long and threatened to become uncomfortable, she glanced up to find him studying her. She set the tea down and cleared her throat.

"…thank you for letting me stay here last night." And she meant it, despite her anxiousness to leave. There was no telling where she might have ended up.

He smiled. He had a nice smile, like the barista at the Starbucks she frequented. "You're quite welcome," he paused to stir his tea, a move she found decidedly…British. "I trust you slept well?"

She didn't remember falling asleep, or even climbing into bed. She didn't remember dreaming, either, and she _always_ dreamed. But this time there had only been blessed darkness and silence, the kind she could only ever achieve by taking sleeping pills. Which was strange, all things considered because whenever she slept away from home, she ended up not sleeping at all.

It occurred to her suddenly that she might have been drugged. She shifted uneasily in her chair and shot the man before her a worried look. But the only thing she'd consumed had been a few sips of the tea back at the pub. And _that_ had been before the guy had even sat down-

He was watching her again, and she remembered that he had asked her a question. She nodded an answer, then hurriedly put the teacup to her lips. More for something to do than for any real desire to drink.

She didn't know what she was expecting. Sweet, maybe. But this was bitter and nasty and bland, and she dissolved into a fit of coughs.

"You must let it steep first," the man said gently. He slid over a linen napkin and nodded towards a few items on the table. Sugar and milk from the looks of the containers. It was a lot of work for a tiny cup of tea and she didn't like the way he was looking at her, like she was something to be pitied or-

"May I ask what your plans are, Miss Norwood?"

She blinked, fingers tapping the side of her cup. "I was…gonna go up to where I first got…" _Transported? Teleported? _What was the right word?

"Lost?" he supplied. She frowned.

"Yes…"

He leaned forward, eyes slighted narrowed, his fingers grazing the side of his temple. She wondered if he had a headache. He had done that before at the pub, too-

"And what were you planning to do once you returned there?"

She felt a flash of irritation. The questions were innocent enough, and not even intrusive, really. But her inability to answer made her feel like she was being pushed into a corner. She clutched at the porcelain cup and tried to organize her thoughts.

"I was going to….to look for…others." She finished lamely. He raised a single brown eyebrow.

"Was that to be your central meeting point?"

She glanced up at her purse, still sitting on the countertop across from her and behind the man. It was looking more and more like she'd have to get up and physically go get it-

"No," she answered distractedly.

"Then why do you think they would be there?" He asked. She stared at him. His gaze held hers evenly until she looked away. Okay, so he knew she was lying but for some reason seemed to be humoring her, anyway. She wondered why he would bother, and then wondered— somewhat spitefully – what would happen if she told him the truth. Would he continue to look so collected and unruffled and…and annoyingly _British_?

As soon as the thought occurred to her, she stomped it down. _No_. _Definitely No._ In 2014 weird wasn't _weird_. It was almost charming to be a little eccentric. But as a whole, society in the past did not think that way. People were institutionalized for little to no reason, and the cure for crazy was always lobotomization-

…and now that scene from _Sucker Punch_ kept replaying in her head. She kept seeing Babydoll strapped into the chair and lobotomized and then being led away afterwards with that blank, serene expression on her face. She blanched. Maybe that was a little extreme. But then, everything about her present situation seemed extreme. She'd watched too many movies and read too many books and retained too much information about them -

"Miss Norwood."

She looked up, and she realized she was breathing hard. Did she look as tightly wound as she felt? As crazy? She took a deep breath.

"I will take you to back to Bedford Street," he said finally, quietly. "It isn't far from here, actually. But I daresay I don't think you'll find what you're looking for." He put his spoon down and racked a hand over his face looking…troubled.

_How would you know what I'm looking for_, she wanted to say, but it seemed snide and unnecessary considering he'd allowed her to stay in his home overnight. Her fingers went back to the strap of her laptop bag as she considered. It felt…safer to have someone with her. Despite the fact that he was very much a stranger. And in this day and age it would probably be appropriate to have an escort. And besides that, she had no idea how to even get back to Bedford-

She froze.

How would he even _know_ about the street when she barely remembered it herself? She remembered glancing over the sign long enough to recognize that she _didn't_ recognize it. Had she mentioned it to him? She ran through their previous conversations in her head , trying to remember, but she didn't recall ever mentioning _that_-

Except that she _must_ have mentioned it because how else would he have known? It was such a minor detail; maybe she just hadn't noticed? There were so many other things going on, after all, it was entirely possible she'd mentioned it and just hadn't realized. She looked across the table at him. The smile he gave her reminded her of coffee and scarves, and thoughts of the Bedford drifted to the back of her mind.

O

Wow, I didn't expect to get such a good response for the previous chapter. THANKS to all of you who took the time to review (and to those of you who didn't, but who still fav'd or followed) I'm a little afraid I won't live up to your expectations now, but I'll certainly try. Haha…


	3. Chapter 3

o

**H**e made her drink all of her tea before they left.

Was annoyingly insistent about it. Usually half a pack of Sweet N' Low or Splenda did the trick in her coffee. But the spoonful of sugar she dumped into the tea did absolutely nothing to curb the bitterness of it. And it seemed pointless to waste time trying to figure out the perfect sugar ratio for something she was too wound up to enjoy, anyway. So she held her breath, gulped the liquid down, and tried not to gag.

She gagged. The look he gave her was half reproachful and a little sardonic, Aaliyah thought, but thankfully he didn't comment. Before he decided to tack on any more stipulations, she stood, throwing her laptop bag over her shoulder and stepping over to the counter top to retrieve her purse. She wanted to get home. Wanted to take a shower and brush her teeth and change her clothes and comb her hair because it was disgusting getting out of bed and not being able to do any of that. She wanted to text her little brother about whatever new PlayStation 4 game he was currently obsessed with, wanted to argue with her roommate-

Miraculously, he didn't stall. He steered her to the door, pausing just long enough to grab a jacket from a nearby coat-rack before moving aside and gesturing for her to exit. She stepped out and found herself in a drafty hallway. Which was surprising because the inside hadn't looked anything _like_ an apartment.

…then again she hadn't really been paying attention one way or the other, so maybe she just hadn't noticed. He led her down a narrow flight of stairs, (3 flights!) that she had no memory of going up the night before, but _must have_ because she didn't see an elevator. By the time they reached the bottom her feet were throbbing and she cursed herself again for wearing heels.

_And what time was it?_ The sun _still_ wasn't out, but that was nothing to go by because it hadn't been out yesterday, either. She nearly asked Xavier, but his wrists were obscured by the sleeves of his jacket and she was unable to tell if he was wearing a watch or not. Knowing her luck, watches probably hadn't been invented yet.

_Ugh_.

Her fingers itched for her phone. She felt vulnerable without it, like being unplugged from The Matrix or something. And without a Morpheus or Neo to guide her. She curled her nails into the flesh of her palms to keep from reaching for it. _It didn't matter what time it was_, she told herself forcefully, _as long as she was able to get back_. Explaining where she'd _been_ for the past few hours would be the bigger problem-

"What city is this?" she blurted.

"We are in Oxford." If he thought it was a weird question, he didn't let on.

_Oxford_. Aaliyah turned the name over in her head. Oxford. _Oxford_. …Oxford? Offhand, the only thing she knew about the place was that it was home to Oxford University. …which meant less than nothing to her because she'd never been there nor did she know anyone who'd attended.

They cut through a crosswalk. Almost immediately her eyes were drawn to one of the cars stopped at the light. Her daddy was a self-described car aficionado, and would no doubt have been able to place the year here based solely on the make and model of the vehicles around them. To _her_ they all looked the same; bulky, large, awkward, and in varying degrees of color. Well not '_varied'_ by any means, because they seemed limited to blacks, pale blues, greens, and creams.

There was one car that caught her attention, though. A pale green one that reminded her of the candy apple red one her daddy kept parked in her parent's back yard. His was a 1968 Ford Galaxie he'd lovingly restored. _This_ one looked way too similar to _not_ be a Ford, but there were differences that made her suspect it was an earlier model. She slowed as they passed it, staring through the windshield, looking over the hood.

_Needs a good wash and wax_. _Daddy would never let his leave the yard lookin' like this…_

Noticing her lagging, Xavier seized her elbow and hurried her along.

As soon as her heel touched the curb, the traffic light changed and car spun away. She caught an image of her daddy pulling out the driveway in it, felt a metallic pang in her chest. The direction of her thoughts was beginning to scare her. She pulled her cardigan closer and turned her attention to Xavier, who had (mercifully) remained silent so far.

"Thank you. Again," she said a little cautiously, resisting the temptation to tack 'sir' on the end of it. He couldn't have been much older than her own 28 years, but something in his bearing made him seem… older. His brow furrowed, one hand resting along the strap of her laptop bag he'd insisted on carrying.

"I'm really sorry for all…_this_." She made a broad fluttery gesture with her right hand, then clenched it into a fist to hide the shaking. "I don't normally do this," she went on, aware that she was both babbling and not making any sense at all. But the silence made her nervous, and she felt the need to explain that she wasn't a crazy person. _She wasn't!_ Or a drunk, which he maybe…_probably_ suspected.

"And by 'this', do you mean to say you don't usually travel without escorts overseas?" his tone was that of playful banter, but something in his blue eyes made her think he was not. She looked away, suddenly regretful of breaking the silence. Clearly he had taken it as an invitation to question her.

"Yes," she said. And then she thought about the question and realized how her answer sounded. "Wait, I mean _no_. _No_ I don't travel alone. Not usually. I mean-" She pressed her lips together, glanced up at him from the corner of her eyes. His complexion had gone slightly ruddy in the chill. Eyebrows raised, he pinned her with a speculative stare.

"I certainly hope not. People tend to lose their way when they're alone, Miss Norwood." And then more softly, "Tell me how you came to be here."

She did not want to talk about that. Didn't know _how_ to talk about that. The wording he'd used seemed to suggest he was asking her to trust him, but she couldn't see any scenario that involved telling the truth ending well. Despite his apparent tendency to pick up strays in pubs, he seemed like a sensible person. Sensible enough to be seen walking and conversing in public with a black woman, despite what had to be great social stigma. They had already attracted quite a few stares; enough that she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She hoped she wasn't ruining whatever standing he had in this society.

She felt suddenly guilty.

Despite what he likely saw as her unwillingness to talk, he had helped her a great deal and she was grateful. More than he realized. She couldn't say she would do the same had the roles been reversed.

Actually she _knew_ she wouldn't. It had been drilled into her head since childhood not to talk to strangers, not to trust people. She didn't even like when folks pulled up to the other side of the pump when she was gassing up her car. Sometimes they would even catch her eyes and smile, and then she'd be bound by propriety's sake to…to _acknowledge_ them in some manner. Which was always stressful. But that was just the world she lived in.

…or used to.

_No, she couldn't think like that._ She was about to go back. Man-who-shared-the-same-name-with-a-comic-book-character was going to lead her to Bedford Street and she was going to walk straight back into 2014. Somehow.

But if that were the case…if she were leaving anyway, what would be the harm in telling him? If he thought she was crazy, she wouldn't be around, anyway. Right? No harm no foul. She could show him her phone. Or maybe her laptop, because the only other computers around right now looked nothing like the one she had, and _surely_ that would prove _something_, wouldn't it? For all she knew, type writers might still be the latest public tech. Aaliyah hadn't seen _her_ first real computer until the late 80's, during the days of _Number Crunch_ and _Oregon Trail_. Even if he didn't believe she was from another era, then _at least_ he'd know she was from somewhere more technologically advanced than this place-

_But it doesn't make sense, _a little voice reminded her_. You don't even really believe it. So why would he?_

The doubt lingered over her. Why would _anyone_? It was as bad as being trapped at sea. _Worse_ even, because here she was surrounded by people…none of whom could do anything to help even if they wanted to. She opened her mouth— to say what she wasn't sure – but her peripheral vision caught the blurred outline of a man walking towards them.

She stepped to her right, closer to Xavier so that all three of them could pass without stopping or bumping into one another, but the man caught her eyes and _glared_. Her steps actually faltered at the strength of that glare. He was an older man, maybe in his late 60's or early 70's. He reminded her of the elderly men she saw back home passing the day away on park benches watching pigeons eat bread. Except that _they_ had never glared at her.

Initially, it startled her. But she soon found herself scowling back because _why was he even glaring?_ He mumbled something indecipherable as he passed, (she thought she caught the words 'uppity' and 'colored'). Trigger words. And she _knew_ they were trigger words but knowing this didn't stop the bite of anger from forming.

What was his problem, anyway? She'd moved over as far as she could, and even if she _hadn't_ moved there would've still been plenty room for him to get by. Anymore over and she would've pushed Xavier off the sidewalk and into the street. _Speaking of which_….Xavier hadn't moved at all and yet the man hadn't even _glanced_ at him-

Realization dawned.

The man had wanted her to step completely off the sidewalk while he walked past_. _He'd_ expected _it_. Because she was black_. The exchange had lasted all of 10 seconds, tops, but seemed like forever. She felt like she was moving in slow motion. She spun on her heels, staring in open mouthed shock at his back. He'd wanted her to get off the sidewalk. He had actually found her _rude_ for not doing so. Indignation welled up with the anger. What the he-

How _dare_ he!

Something heavy settled over her shoulders.

Her thoughts scattered. Looking down over herself, she saw that it was the tweed jacket Xavier had been wearing. Her gaze fell back to the retreating old man, but Xavier stepped over, essentially blocking her view, and she found herself facing the buttons of his pressed white shirt instead.

"My apologies for not noticing sooner," he was saying. She felt his hand on the small of her back, a gentle pressure urging her back into a walk. "I'm sure you're used to warmer weather, being where you're from."

…what was he talking about? Had she even _told_ him where she was from? She didn't _remember_ telling him, didn't even remember him asking, to be honest. Although yes, she _was_ cold. The confusion must have shown on her face, because he gave a flustered laugh that somehow still managed to sound charming.

"I'm assuming of course. Your accent is southern US, I believe? It's lovely, by the way." He smiled. "Georgia, or Mississippi, perhaps?" He stepped closer, reaching over to turn the collar of his jacket down over her shoulders and she struggled not to back away from the proximity.

"…Georgia," she confirmed slowly. She hadn't realized she had an accent, but maybe it was just more obvious since everyone around here sounded so different. She glanced behind her again but the old bigot had long since rounded the corner. …just as well, she grudgingly admitted, since causing a scene likely would have ended in her being arrested if the stories her granny had told her were true.

She scowled and clutched at the hem of the jacket. It felt like Xavier had purposefully intervened to distract her. Unfortunately it had worked because without a catalyst she found herself unable to hold on to the anger and it dissipated into annoyance. She just wanted to leave. She _needed_ to leave. _God_, she couldn't stay in a place like this where apparently she couldn't even _walk on the damn sidewalk_-

"Here we are," Xavier said. And there was the sign. Bedford Street. Her heart sped up, and the old man and the sidewalk incident slipped from her mind. Xavier was still talking - she couldn't even _begin_ to fathom what about - because his voice was fast becoming white noise. She moved closer, and both he and the people milling around melted into the background.

She'd been standing here, _right here_, when she first saw the sign, hadn't she? _No_, she corrected. It was more to the _left_ because it had been angled-

She adjusted her position.

_There_.

And over there! Just a few yards away was the bench she'd sat on. She went over and sat down. It was damp with dew, _and cold_, very cold – but it barely registered as she mentally re-traced her steps. _She'd sat here for a few minutes and then she'd gone over to the girl across the way to ask to use her phone_. But before that, _before that_, which direction had she been traveling in before she'd stumbled on to Bedford?

She couldn't remember. She only remembered the sign simply _being_ there, but not which direction she'd been traveling from when she'd first seen it. And all the turning and spinning she'd done in an effort to find her way made it impossible to tell-

She slipped her arms through Xavier's jacket and rooted through her purse for her phone. It felt smooth and cold in her palm, and having it within her grasp made her feel slightly calmer. She turned it on and stood up. _Maybe_ if she happened upon the exact area she'd been in before when she first got here, it would pick up a signal. Maybe it would send her back. Like…like a portal or something.

…that was the plan, anyway. _God that sounded so stupid_. It sounded wild and sci-fi-_ish_ but she was suddenly desperate. She looked at her phone's screen watching for a signal, a possible digit change on her clock, _anything_-

_2:12pm_, it still read. Along with, '_No Signal'_.

She held it up in the air.

The signal bar remained crossed out. She moved a few feet away from the sign, narrowly avoiding a woman walking by. No signal. _She wasn't picking up anything!_ She felt again the panic unraveling. She held the phone up higher, turned it sideways-

_No signal._

She backed up, bumping into someone who told her to "_Watch it_!" Aaliyah barely heard them. Her phone still wasn't registering a signal. But last time she was here, it had _changed_. She _remembered_ it changing because originally her phone had displayed a different time than 2:12. _She'd kept checking it and it had eventually changed to 2:12, but before then it really HAD been changing, she was SURE-_

She looked up at the street sign again, caught a glimpse of Xavier, who for some reason was still there, hands in his the pockets of his khakis, looking puzzled and pitying and alarmed all at once-

Power cycling was doing no good, but she did it again, anyway. Her thumb was starting to ache from holding down the button. She held her breath, praying hard, and when it came back up…there was still no signal.

She wanted to fling it into the concrete but some sane part of her balked at the idea. She'd paid over four hundred dollars for the thing and they didn't make Samsung Galaxy's here-

But without the charger, what was the point? It was little more than a very expensive paperweight. It was _already_ useless! Without internet access, it was useless. Without a cell phone tower to connect to it was _useless_. Her laptop, too. _Everything she currently had with her was useless-!_

And suddenly there were hands on her shoulders, and someone was speaking to her. Dimly she realized it was Xavier. He led her back to the bench and gently took the phone from her hands.

"It doesn't work," she said shakily.

"I know."

"I thought if I came back here, it would," she continued. "And I'm late. I missed work yesterday. I'm not supposed to be here…" The absurdness of worrying about her job struck her suddenly as funny. But somewhere along the way the giggles gave way to sobs. She felt as though she were drowning and there was nothing to hold on to. The world around her blurred and swam and she dropped her head to her knees and wept.

_She couldn't get back_. And worse still was not knowing how she'd even gotten here in the first place. She wouldn't even be able to go back to the US because she had no passport to get there. …not that there was anything to get back _to_. Not knowing the year, she had no idea if her parents had even been born yet, and if they were, they wouldn't know her, would probably be in diapers-

They'd never find her. No one would ever find her. They'd search and search and never even find a body. _Oh God_, her mama might never recover-! She wrapped her arms around her knees and cried harder.

Now that she'd started, she couldn't stop the flow of Nevers. She'd never see her family again. Never see her friends. Never find out how _Scandal_ ended, or what happened on _The Big Bang Theory_. She would never discover whether or not Jay-Z had actually cheated on Beyoncé, never know if Kim and Kanye's marriage had lasted, never hear Adele's next rumored album. She saw her life flash before her eyes, saw all the things she hadn't gotten to do left unfinished-

Distantly, she was aware of arms around her, of a hand moving in slow circular strokes across her back. He was saying something, speaking in quiet murmurs that she couldn't even begin to focus on. It all seemed like too much effort, took too much energy-

Something like calm flooded through her, unfamiliar. She found herself mentally recoiling, pushing violently against the feeling, squashing it down and clinging to the hysteria. She did not want to be calm, did not want to think of everything she'd lost, of the fact that she had _no plan_, _no future_, _no idea of what she would do_. But bizarrely, instead of disappearing, the feeling only seemed to intensify. It felt alien and wrong, something forced upon her, like taking a Valium before a wisdom tooth extraction. The panic rose like a slide whistle and she found herself pulling away from the man, struggling to stand-

But the arms around her held on.

"Aaliyah, you must listen," he was saying. He sounded so very far away, and yet despite the sobs she could somehow still hear him. "Calm yourself! Everything…everything is going to be fine-"

How _dare_ he say that?! Like it was some…some _marginal_ problem that could be solved by being _rational_. _He didn't know what he was talking about! It was NOT going to be 'fine'_-_!_

_**Then why don't you explain it? **_ Something countered. She froze for the barest of seconds.

Had… _she_ thought that? Was that _her_ thought? _Oh God_ was she actually _arguing_ with herself now-?!

The calmness was there again. Insistent. _Adamant_. It cloaked her like a blanket until she felt choked with its essence. And then— just as suddenly— she felt the anger and panic leave her. The hammering in her chest slowed to a dull thrum, her hands unclenched themselves. She found that she was leaning most of her weight against Xavier. A part of her protested but she was just too tired to care. She hung her head and her gaze found her shoes; a pair of lime green strappy heels that perfectly matched her cardigan. It had taken her weeks to find them, and she'd eventually ended up ordering offline, but looking back she didn't know why she'd bothered. It all seemed so vapid, so _unimportant_, now.

"Tell me about your job." Xavier asked quietly.

There was nothing else. So she let out a breath and began to speak. Her voice was hoarse from crying, but she told him about the library, about the shelving and ordering process for books and DVDs, about she and her co-workers planning the library's summer programming roster for the children. It was a wholly mundane and unexciting job, and not even something she really enjoyed, but it worked out perfectly because she did not like or handle change well. Her descriptions were disjointed even to her own ears, and she wasn't sure if he even understood, but he didn't interrupt.

She lapsed into silence when she was done.

Neither of them spoke, and she found herself watching people walk by; a blonde woman pausing to pick up her screaming child. A Jack Russell terrier which wandered dangerously close to their bench before being yanked back by its owner.

"I think…" he hesitated. She continued to stare at the pavement.

"…it's very different where you're from." He said finally. Aaliyah wondered again how much of the vague descriptions of her job he had understood.

"Sometimes things…happen. Things which seem to contradict our very design."

Yeah. She'd heard that saying before. She'd seen a bumper sticker with the very same adage on it, except that it had simply read, 'Shit happens'. _And it had indeed hit the fan_. She shut her eyes.

"I meant what I said before," he continued softly. "I'd like to help you, if you'll allow it."

_Why? _She wanted to ask. Was he really so selfless? Was everyone with that name doomed to be a philanthropic samaritan? Professor Charles Xavier: helper of comic book mutants. And _this_ Charles Xavier: helper of some random chick-

"I don't think anyone can help me." She said finally. _But thank you for trying_, she added silently.

"Things are never quite as bad as they appear to be," he replied gently. "Sometimes…sometimes we are governed by…" he hesitated, seeming to search for a word. "…_events_ in our lives. We are led places where we think we must be lost, but it turns out we are exactly where we're meant to be."

She didn't know what he was saying except that he seemed to be trying to comfort her. She wished he wouldn't. She did not want to be reminded of her situation.

"But I'm not supposed to _be_ here," she cried. "I'm not _from_ here-"

"I know."

Aaliyah didn't think he did.

"You don't understand! _This isn't where I was yesterday!_" it was coming out all wrong. She felt the tears again, felt the growing lump in her throat and knew she would dissolve into sobs once more. The few people passing near them paused. She probably looked insane. It couldn't look good, in any era, for a female to be crying hysterically on a bench along a crowded boulevard. Xavier shifted, one of his arms left her shoulder and his hand found his temple.

"But," he continued in that level but gentle voice, "it is where you are today."

She felt her shoulders slump. Around them, the people hovering nearby continued on their way.

O

Trainee Hero, DaniNatureGirl, HopelessXDayXDreamer, guest, DeathFrisbee, Bobfred, RoxanneRay, Ali, you guys ROCK. And everyone who reviewed chapter one, as well! This chapter was supposed to be out last Sunday (the 5th). But my general dissatisfaction with the way it was coming out, (along with mandatory overtime at my job) prevented me from working on it as much as I like.


	4. Chapter 4

o

**X**avier had a sister.

A pretty blonde girl with hair that fell in waves below her shoulders. She was in the kitchen when they returned to the apartment, looking like she was ready for a close-up on the set of a Pantene Pro V commercial. She watched Aaliyah curiously as Xavier introduced them.

"Hello again," she said.

'_Again'? _ Wait... Aaliyah felt her eyes widen. Oh! It was the waitress from the pub!

…she was _related_ to Xavier? _For reals? _ It was one heck of a coincidence. Actually it was more like something off of _Oprah_ or _Doctor Phil- _

"…thanks for the tea last night," Aaliyah said. She didn't recognize her voice. It sounded low and hoarse, like she'd swallowed a brillo pad. The girl, (Raven, he'd called her) smiled, then shot her brother a questioning look.

"Miss Norwood is going to be staying with us for a bit," he explained. _Rather vaguely_, she thought. And then it dawned on her just _what_ he'd said.

She was staying. Here. _With them_. He couldn't have had time to really think that decision through, and she felt a rush of both gratitude and apprehension. He was opening his home to a literal stranger, asking his sister to be fine with it. (And really he hadn't asked his sister at all). She should be grateful. She _was_ grateful.

_And yet…_

It was also a stark reminder that she was s_tuck. _ It had a cold finality to it, a sort of resignation that didn't allow for much, if any, hope. She was stuck here. She had no answers, no money, and was completely at the mercy of their hospitality… however long they chose to give it. She felt like someone's red-headed stepchild. Or a pet. Beside her, Xavier raked a hand through his brown hair. His sister continued to stare at him.

"Yeah. Um. Alright, I guess," the girl said. She looked again at Aaliyah but said nothing more. It was…a weird reaction, all things considered. That was it? No protests…? So his sister wasn't going to question this at all…? Aaliyah bit her lip, suddenly uncomfortable. If that had been _her_ little brother…

Dré would have started up the next inquisition, demanding to know who this stranger was, why said stranger was staying in their home, how long they were planning to be there-

_But that's not your brother_.

She felt like she'd been punched in the gut. She looked away from the girl and down at the floor.

"Raven, can you fetch Miss Norwood something to wear?" Xavier asked. "I'm afraid she's rather indisposed at the moment…" Raven nodded and left the room. He turned to Aaliyah, studying her face for a beat. Whatever he saw there made him frown.

"Right, then. Follow me." He set off in the direction his sister had gone. She trailed numbly behind. Her limbs felt like lead. She didn't even feel the pain in her feet anymore, (a plus) but there was a definite headache forming at her temples. He led her through what could have been a study (or alternately a den), but the room they ended up in was a bathroom. She hadn't used the bathroom since she'd left her apartment yesterday afternoon. _And Lord her bladder felt like it_. That tea had gone straight through her.

"You can have a shower if you like," Xavier was saying. _Oh thank God_. She could have cried in relief. Even the thought of being in a stranger's shower didn't put her off.

…and then she thought about it and wondered if he was suggesting it because he thought she smelled bad_. _ She swallowed back a sigh. She didn't _think_ she did. It was so cold here that she hadn't even had a chance to sweat, but she was so used to showering twice daily that skipping even a day made her feel gross and disgusting-

"On second thought," he interjected slowly, "perhaps that wouldn't be such a good idea right now." He was staring down at her, head tilted slightly to the side, frowning.

"NO!" it came out louder and with more force than she meant it to, but the thought of _not_ having a shower really bothered her. She needed the hot water. She needed to be clean. She needed to be _alone_ so that she could possibly finish crying. But most of all she needed to get away from his eyes: from that pitying, sympathetic expression he continued to wear, that questioning blue gaze that wondered things she couldn't answer.

"Miss Norwood," he began patiently, "you look as though you're about to keel over. I don't think it's particularly safe for you to be standing in a tub full of water-"

"No! Please, I feel fine...see? _ I'm fine!_" she insisted. For some reason this made the frown on his face deepen. She wanted to push him from the room and lock the door. After a few moments he sighed.

"I'm leaving the door ajar," he warned. "If I hear anything even remotely bad I'm sending in Raven straight away."

_Yeah fine, whatever_. _Just get out!_ She thought anxiously. He raised an eyebrow at her, but brought her a towel, wash cloth, and a bar of soap. She avoided his eyes during the exchange, mumbling a thanks, taking the items carefully from him and cradling them to herself. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he left the room. True to his word, he left about 4 inches of space between the door and the frame. She peeked out the crack but saw no sign of him. She assumed he was somewhere nearby, though. Close enough to be able to hear her, anyway-

_Back to square one_.

She laid the towel and her purse on the tiny counter top and went to use the toilet. There was indoor plumbing, at least. That was something. She should be appreciative of such conveniences. She wondered what her mama would say. Probably something along the lines of being thankful. Her mama was one of those old school devout Southern Baptists. She woke every morning and thanked God for simply being alive, and went to bed thanking Him for another day, no matter what kind of day she'd had.

Aaliyah felt a sudden stroke of anger.

What did _she_ have to be thankful for? What was the point of being alive in a place you didn't belong? Why would God allow her to be here? _Where WAS God? _

_Blasphemous thoughts_. She could hear her mother scolding her. Aaliyah closed her eyes, drew a shaky breath, and tried to list the positives.

She was in an English speaking country, at least. _That was something_. And even though this was sometime in the past, it was at least within the fringes of the modern world. No out-houses or horse drawn carriages. That was another positive.

Sort of.

…if you ignored the lack of civil rights. She rubbed her eyes. Still, it was better than ending up in the 1800's. She'd have wound up a slave or something_. A dead slave_, she corrected. She had no doubt she'd probably have been killed by now, either for back-talking or for simply sounding too educated. Being _here_ was indefinitely better than ending up _there_. She really _should_ be grateful, she guessed, but she just felt…

Lost.

The Bedford Street idea hadn't worked. But maybe…_maybe_ if she tried again, this time during the _exact same time of day_ it had been during the first time she'd been transported here-

She didn't know if she could handle another failure, though. It had been soul crushing to get her hopes up and not have anything come of it. But doing something, _anything_ had to better than doing nothing and making no effort. Right?

Her hands shook as she undressed. It took three tries before she was able to successfully unzip her capris. A sob tore from her throat, and she stilled instantly, gaze nervously flicking to the door. Thankfully no one appeared. She was still wearing Xavier's jacket, and she hung it over the door knob behind her and climbed into the shower.

_Christ it was cold_. Back home, she took her showers sauna hot, but for some reason, here, no matter how long she let the water run, it did not get any warmer than lukewarm. And the pressure _sucked_ and the soap _wouldn't lather_, and for some reason all the things that were supposed to work the same were completely different-

And then she was crying again, in gasping, heaving breaths. She covered her mouth with the wash cloth in an effort to muffle the sound. She half expected the shower curtain to be snatched back at any moment, but there was nothing.

…except that when she got out the shower, the jacket was gone and there was a robe in its place.

She stood frozen, completely mortified. She hadn't heard anyone enter the room; hadn't heard any footsteps at all over the roar of the shower. It was alarming…_embarrassing_ to know she'd possibly been heard. Irrationally, she felt a stab of resentment. This wasn't her house, and she had no right to be angry, she guessed, but she couldn't stop the feeling that she had nothing here, not even privacy. She slipped on the robe, caught a wayward glimpse of herself in the mirror.

_Was that her?_ She didn't recognize the girl that stared back. She looked fragile and frightened, with swollen red eyes and smeared lipstick. Her hair was still pinned up in the high ponytail on the side of her head – now wet from the shower. She hadn't combed it since yesterday morning; it would be a kinky, matted, dry mess when she finally decided to deal with it, and she cringed at the thought. It was doubtful that Xavier or his sister had anything that could be used on a black person's hair, and it would start breaking off if she didn't stop neglecting it soon. There was a comb in her purse but she couldn't bring herself to get it.

She felt as though she'd run a marathon. She could fall asleep right there on the floor, would happily have stayed there all night, actually. She wasn't looking forward to going out and facing her hosts. It had been a mistake giving into the tears. They would see her face and know, and then she'd have to deal with those _looks_-

He rose from the sofa when she finally forced herself from the bathroom. She felt another wave of embarrassment; how long had he been out here waiting? He looked her over— and with such scrutiny that she had to avert her eyes. She felt grossly under-dressed in only the robe and her bare feet. She didn't remember exactly when she'd taken off her shoes or even where they were. She wanted to say something, thought that she _should_ say something, but her tongue felt glued to her mouth. Wordlessly, he took her clothes and her purse from her hands, then led her from the room. She prayed it was to a couch or a bed-

It was the kitchen.

The thought of eating anything at the moment made her want to throw up, but he set a bowl of…_something_ in front of her anyway, and another cup of tea. She stared at them, unblinking.

"You must eat," he said gently. "You've had nothing but tea for nearly two days." A part of her wondered how he could know that, but of course he must have seen the tea cup his sister had given her at the pub.

It smelled like some sort of stew. She dipped the spoon in, but her hand was shaking so horribly she didn't want to risk bringing it up to her mouth. Xavier slid a chair next to her, much too close for comfort, and sat down. If he tried to spoon feed her like some invalid, she was going to _flip the hell out_-

He hesitated, then wrapped his fingers around her own and guided the spoon to her lips. She stilled at the contact, staring at the spoon, but couldn't bring herself to open her mouth.

"…Miss Norwood-"

Was this how far she had fallen? Just yesterday morning she had been a career woman, living on her own. She had her own apartment, her own car, her own _money_-

"Miss Norwood?"

-and now she couldn't even walk on the sidewalk, couldn't even _feed_ herself-

"_Aaliyah_."

She burst into tears. The spoon was tugged away from her hands, and she had a brief moment of clarity to worry that it may have spilled.

"What's the matter with her?" his sister asked, sounding alarmed.

"I can't stay here," Aaliyah said. "I need to get back-"

"I don't think that's possible right now," Xavier said.

"Get back _where_?" his sister asked.

"Raven, _please_. _Not now_-"

Of course it wasn't possible. She had already tried, hadn't she? He helped her to her feet, pulled her gently from the room.

"You're tired," he said. "I should have realized." He sat her on the bed, adjusted the robe more securely around her. She hated the feeling of inadequacy that accompanied it. Hated the feeling of helplessness that seemed to be rapidly becoming a hallmark. She pushed his hands away but he caught her wrists easily and held them.

"_Don't_. " he said. He was so close she felt the warmth of his breath against her cheek. "You _must_ stop fighting me, Miss Norwood."

The absurdity of the situation— her sitting in nothing but a robe and restrained by a stranger who insisted on tacking 'Miss' in front of her name – was arresting. His hands moved in one fluid motion from her wrists to her shoulders, and he pushed her carefully, gently back until her head rested against the pillow. She couldn't see the ceiling, she thought distractedly. The slant of light from the hallway, partially obscured by his sister's form peeking into the room, only reached a little past the door.

He pulled the quilt up to her shoulders but didn't move away. She wished he would _just_ _go_ already. Every moment in his presence seemed to strip away more of her dignity, and simply being _here_, in this…_time_…was doing a nice enough job on its own. Her eyes flicked to his outline against the shadows. He seemed to be hesitating.

And then he lifted his hand to his temple. _He did that a lot_, she thought-

She awoke again from another dreamless sleep.

That was two nights in a row. _Hot dang._ The stress must have been affecting her more than she'd realized. She didn't even remember _falling_ asleep-

She sat up slowly, looking suspiciously around the room.

It was just like the last time she'd woken up here, and she couldn't stop the feeling of déjà vu that washed over her. Maybe she really _was_ in the Matrix. She wondered what time it was. It had still been morning when she'd went to bed yesterday. She pulled the robe closer around her, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and padded to the door.

Just like before, the house was quiet. She felt again that hesitation, the uncertainty of wandering through someone else's house, uninvited. But she really, _really_ had to pee, and for once that took priority over propriety. She slipped out the room and down the hallway, then through the study, praying that she didn't meet anyone. If she was lucky she'd be able to slip back into the bedroom without being noticed. It didn't _sound_ as though anyone was up, but the curtains had been opened, which suggested _someone_ was-

Later, as she was washing her hands and face, she noticed a comb by the sink. Xavier hadn't mentioned anyone else living here…at least she didn't _remember_ him mentioning anyone else. But the comb had red hair in it. Bright red hair. Neither he nor his sister had hair that color. Maybe there was another sibling?

_God, _she thought. Four people (including her) in one tiny apartment. With only one bathroom, from the looks of it.

She ran into the sister on the way back to her room.

"Morning," the girl said, looking again like she was off to a modeling gig. _How_ did she manage to look so perfect so _early_? The blonde watched her a little hesitantly; probably worried she would fall into a crying fit again. Aaliyah was determined not to.

"Good morning," She answered, trying not to look around. She didn't see Xavier anywhere, but maybe he was in one of the other rooms?

"Charles had class this morning," the girl offered, perhaps noticing her wandering eyes. "He'll be back later." _Wait, what?!_

Aaliyah felt her eyes widen. He'd _left_ her? _Alone?_ He _couldn't_!-

She squashed that line of thinking. It was alarming how accustomed she'd become to the man's presence. She'd worked hard to become an independent adult, and in the span of two days she was already acting like a scared, co-dependent child.

And then something else occurred to her.

He'd left his sister alone, too. He had _actually_ left his sister _alone_ with a stranger he'd met barely two days ago. She could have been a murderer, or a crazy person, or…or a con-artist or something… Was he _really_ so naïve? Or was the crime rate so low here that people simply did not have those kinds of worries?

His sister, for her part, seemed not to mind. She showed no concern whatsoever, even went so far as to turn her back and start heading in the direction of the kitchen.

"He told me to make sure you ate breakfast." She called. Aaliyah's stomach rolled at the thought. The idea of forcing anything down right now made her queasy.

"Oh. No thank you. I'm not really that hungry..." She shuffled on her feet, played with the belt of her robe.

"Yeah, he said you'd say that," the blonde sounded amused.

_He did?_ He was an _irritating_ man, she decided crossly.

"He told me to make you eat anyway," The girl continued.

_I bet he did_, Aaliyah thought sullenly. Nevertheless she followed her into the kitchen and sat down. She could at least force down a bite. Maybe once she ate, her appetite would return, and they would stop riding her about eating. It was strange that it hadn't _already_ returned, but maybe she was just in shock or something. The memory of him beside her, thigh pressed against her own, helping her lift the spoon suddenly rose to the forefront. She forced it nervously away. She wouldn't be able to look him in the eye next time she saw him.

Raven set a plate of buttered toast in front of her. Apparently the girl really hadn't been joking when she'd said he'd instructed her to 'make her eat', because she pulled out the chair across from her, rested her chin in her hands, and watched her with pale eyes.

"Eat up!" she said cheerfully. Aaliyah fought back the urge to scowl. It had to have been genetic, because his sister was turning out to be just as annoying as Xavier himself. Although, at least _she_ wasn't trying to force feed her.

She took a tiny bite and almost gagged.

"I really don't think I can eat this," she said finally.

"Oh c'mon. It's not that bad," the girl insisted. "It's only a little burnt around the edges, see?" A 'little' burnt was a gross misrepresentation, but that wasn't what she meant.

"No, I mean…I feel sick." Aaliyah explained, frowning.

"Oh." the blonde shrugged. "He's gonna know if you don't eat it. Trust me." The way she said it sounded both ominous and omnipotent. How would he know unless she told her? Obviously the girl just didn't know how to lie, apparently. Or maybe her brother simply knew her well enough that he could tell when she lied. His sister took the plate and dumped the toast into a nearby trash can. "Your name's Li, right?"

"…It's Aaliyah," she corrected.

"Yeah, that's what I said." The blonde pulled out a glass from the cabinet. "Charles said you didn't like tea. You want some juice or cola, instead?" She didn't want anything at all, but it didn't seem like the girl would take 'no' for an answer.

"Just water, thank you."

The girl filled the glass with tap water, set it in front of her, and sat back down. Was she gonna watch her drink it, to? _Oh for God's sake…._ She took a sip from the glass, relaxing when her stomach didn't protest. When she looked up, the girl was watching her again.

"Charles told me to take you out to get clothes and stuff," his sister said. "I guess we can leave when you finish your water." Aaliyah frowned. She didn't like the idea of them buying her things. It felt like she was taking advantage of them, and she doubted she'd be able to pay them back anytime soon. And hadn't his sister said he'd had 'class'? She didn't know if that meant he was a student or a teacher, but neither occupation commanded a very high salary. Could he even afford this?

"Soo…how are you feeling?"

She glanced up sharply. The question had come out of nowhere. Raven was watching her carefully, a little hesitantly, and Aaliyah felt instantly guilty for her behavior the previous night. And embarrassed. Maybe she _should_ have stayed on her medicine; she was clearly prone to panic attacks and fits of anxiety, but it had _never_ been this bad-

"I…better, thanks." She replied. Her fingers tightened around the glass. Across from her, Xavier's sister looked like she wanted to say something, but changed her mind. Aaliyah sighed.

"I'm sorry," she began. "I don't usually act like that. I just…"

"It's okay," Raven interrupted. "Charles explained it."

Again she felt the bite of irritation. Apparently Charles had the solution to everyone's problems. _ What exactly did he explain?_ She wanted to ask. She hadn't told him anything, _certainly_ not enough for him to be spouting off explanations and excuses for her crazy behavior. But it _did_ explain why his sister wasn't asking any questions, despite clearly being the type. Maybe he'd warned her away from that.

"I guess we should get going," Raven said, glancing at a clock on the wall. She looked at Aaliyah's glass of water, nearly untouched. "I'll just dump this out, then…"

She felt a stab of guilt. They were trying. She couldn't have been the easiest person to live with, but they were still making the effort to see to it that she ate, despite the disruption…no, the _intrusion_ upon their lives. She sighed and pushed back her chair. She needed to do better. Pull herself together, maybe see about getting a job. She couldn't stay dependent on them forever.

O

DaniNatureGirl, Guest, Trainee Hero, iamgoku, ZabuzasGirl, Ali, thanks so much for taking the time to review! I really do appreciate the feedback. Almost didn't make my self imposed Sunday deadline, but better late than never, I suppose…


	5. Chapter 5

_Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you._

O

_**O**__ne, two, three-_

Outside was the same as it had been the day before. Overcast, wet and cold. There didn't seem to be any great variations in temperature here, but Aaliyah thought her mood might have improved had she caught even a glimpse of the sun.

It was not gonna be a good day. She didn't know why she thought this, but the feeling of apprehension had only grown since stepping outside. Beneath the coat Xavier's sister had lent her, she had on the same clothes she'd worn the past (now) three days. The same thin, summertime ensemble she'd had on when it had actually _been_ summer. In her hometown. In Georgia. In 2014.

…_four, five, six-_

Maybe that's why she was getting so many stares. She'd assumed it was because she was black, but maybe it had more to do with the way she was dressed. The clothing she had on was…admittedly less conservative than what she saw here. _Her_ colors were brighter, bolder, the cut and shape of them completely different. Even her purse, a giant sized cream, silver, and black Baby Phat brand, looked nothing like the plain bags the women here seemed to favor. Raven had marveled over the design, running her fingers over the material and the silver studs that littered it and wondering aloud if she'd had it custom made.

…_seven, eight-_

She finally did see some other black people. She'd felt a sort of giddy relief at that. Irrationally, she'd actually begun to wonder if they even existed at all in this city. She hadn't remembered seeing any the previous day, but so far this morning alone she'd seen several. Maybe they just didn't live in the same neighborhood that Xavier's apartment was in…? But that brought to mind a whole new crop of uncomfortable thoughts_; was it because they weren't allowed? _ _Could they not afford it? …did they just not WANT to?_

She wished she could talk to them. She thought she might have had a better understanding of this place if she did, but she wasn't good at striking up random conversations, and she didn't know how to approach them without seeming like some…weirdo. So instead, (and without meaning to), she found herself involuntarily staring.

The women wore their hair in sculpted, neat styles that mimicked their white counterparts. They reminded her of a retro Diana Ross, before she'd let her hair go…big. Beehives, Bouffants and flips-

_Those are 1960's hairstyles_, she realized. _She was sometime in the sixties!_ The discovery of this did not help as much as she'd thought it would. If anything, she felt something heavy settle in the pit of her stomach. The sixties were not a good time to be black. She felt guilty thinking it, but there was just no getting around it. It was evident in the blacks around her, who seemed almost desperate to blend in, to not attract attention. The amount of chemicals and heat they had to have used on their hair to get such sleek results (in such a wet environment) made her want to cringe. Her own hair was big and grew in tight spirals the size of ink pen springs, and she wore it à la Yaya Dacosta.

…but the sort of looks she was currently receiving made her suddenly wish Raven's jacket had a hood. They passed an older black woman, who stared at her hair with such obvious disdain that it made her uncomfortable. And later on, two pretty black girls, both with neatly trimmed Vidal Sasson-ish bobs (that reminded her of the Supremes) gave her a giggling side-eye. She found herself glaring back.

…_why_ couldn't she have ended up in the seventies? Better yet, why did she have to end up anywhere at all? She must look completely _alien_ to them, she thought, to get _these_ kinds of reactions. It was a good thing she'd been dressed for work and not wearing a mini or tank or fully fro'd out. They'd think her absolutely _scandalous_-

Still, it was…disheartening to see that sort of unacceptance from other blacks. Eventually, she began avoiding their eyes all together, focusing her gaze straight ahead, counting her steps against the sidewalk.

_-nine, ten, eleven…_

She'd been doing it all morning. A nervous habit. Shanique had jokingly accused her of having OCD on numerous occasions-

Her eyes burned at the thought of her friend. It was better not to think of her. Of _any_ of them. Instead, she turned her attention to their surroundings. Where ever Raven was taking her must have been too far to walk, because they'd ended up at a bus stop. There were 3 other people already there, a middle aged businessman wearing a Watson style bowler hat, a younger man who leaned against the bus stop sign looking slightly bored, and a silver haired elderly woman reading a paperback. The woman smiled and nodded her head at Raven, completely ignoring Aaliyah. Bizarrely, she found herself wondering which was worse; the looks of derision and disdain she was receiving from the blacks, or being completely ignored by some whites and then marginalized by others.

Boarding the bus was equally unpleasant. She hadn't ridden a bus since she was twelve…and hadn't liked it then, either. But now, instead of rowdy, screaming middle-schoolers, there was a whole new angle to deal with: _Would they make her sit in the back? Would they kick her off?_ There were about eight people already on board that she could see, and it felt like all sixteen pairs of eyes were on her, although it could have just been her nerves.

Raven plopped down in the third seat back from the driver, unconcerned. Aaliyah hesitated just slightly before sliding in beside her. She _hated _feeling like this. Hated being in this place, not knowing if her skin would get her denied entry or forced to the back. Despite her resolve not to, she found her gaze drifting up towards the driver. He hadn't turned around. Not yet, anyway. Which was a good sign, she guessed. A little of the tension left her shoulders.

But when she glanced to the mirror above his head, his eyes seemed to be watching her. She looked hurriedly away.

_He's gonna ask me to move_, she thought both angry and panicked. And what would she do? Walk off the bus entirely? That would be her first reaction but it wouldn't get her anywhere since she was currently dependent on Raven. Should she _refuse_ to move? Rosa Parks had already happened, hadn't it? _If it was the sixties, it had_. But that had been in the US, and even if it _had_ already happened, who knew how and _if_ it had affected anything overseas. She didn't remember learning anything about British Black History in school. For all she knew, there might not even have been a civil rights movement over here-

She waited for the driver to speak, body stiff with anticipation and dread.

He didn't. And neither did anyone else, which made her wonder if she had imagined the initial stares. But it didn't matter because by then her nerves were in tatters, anyway. And after the third stop, when Raven announced that this was where they got off, Aaliyah stood hurriedly from the green leather seat and walked quickly down the aisle, down the steps, and out the door without waiting. Raven stepped off a few moments later at a more leisurely pace, looking amused.

"Where's the fire?" she joked. Aaliyah let her lips turn up into a fleeting half smile before turning away to look around. At first glance the area looked much the same as the one they'd left. But it was busier here; there were more people and more traffic, and it had a metro sort of vibe to it.

"This is a good one," Raven said, gesturing towards a store a little to their left. There were mannequins set up on display in the window, dressed in what she guessed was probably the current fashion here. "I got a skirt from here the other day," the blonde continued, pushing open the door to walk through. Aaliyah started to follow when she noticed the sign. It was slightly smaller than that first sign she'd seen two days ago, but the text was exactly the same:

_No Blacks, No Irish, No Dogs_.

_Wow_, she thought.

"Well c'mon," Raven called, still holding the door.

"I can't go in there," Aaliyah replied flatly. For a split second, the blonde looked confused. Then she walked back out and followed Aaliyah's gaze to the sign. She flushed.

"_OH_. Yeah. Didn't see that. Okay…guess we'll go somewhere else, then…" she sounded uncertain, and Aaliyah wondered at her response. She'd probably never given the signs any real thought before. Clearly Raven herself had never had any issues getting into stores. To most people they'd probably simply become a fixture; a 'seen but_ not seen'_ sort of thing.

She followed the girl a little ways around the block, to what she presumed was another of her shopping haunts. It came as no surprise (to Aaliyah anyway) that _this_ store had the sign up as well. So far, several shops they'd passed along the way all had variations of the sign:

'_No Blacks'. _Or, '_No Irish, No Blacks'. _Or, '_No Dogs, No Blacks'. _Aaliyah found herself wondering what would happen if she actually _did_ go into one of the stores. Would they have her arrested?_ Probably, _she thought bitterly. Raven looked genuinely flummoxed.

"Geez Louise! How do Negroes shop?"

Aaliyah grimaced. _It's a different time._ She had to keep telling herself this, had to keep repeating it like a mantra, but it was still hard to hear that word being used so casually. She wondered what the blacks of this time thought about being called 'negroes'. _She_ personally didn't like it. Not only did it _sound_ ugly, but phonetically speaking, it sounded way too close to the _other_ N word. Judging from the casual ease with which Raven had used it, she guessed it was considered socially acceptable. But if that were the case, then why did all the signs here say 'black'? Raven herself had American mannerisms, so maybe her wording was what they used in the US at the current time?

_Ugh._ It was too confusing to try to decode all this now.

"I didn't have these kinds of issues back home," Aaliyah said finally. "I shopped at any store I wanted. People weren't stupid enough to turn away money for something like this." She added, waving a hand towards the sign.

"…in _Georgia_?" Xavier's sister sounded even more confused. And a little skeptical. Aaliyah scowled.

"…Yes." She had to stop herself from giving the girl the dreaded side eye.

"_Hn_. That's weird because I'd have thought it'd be worse, being in the south and all…" Raven replied, looking and sounding confused.

"Not in my time." The words came out a little harsher than she'd intended.

Raven blinked. "…what?" she asked. Aaliyah realized immediately her mistake.

"I mean…I meant not in my…_town_," she corrected hurriedly. Raven continued to stare.

"Um...okay. Well, let's try over here, then..."

Eventually they _did_ find a store without a sign. Although, the look on Raven's face as they entered told her the girl wasn't particularly impressed by the place. Admittedly, it wasn't as flashy as some of the other shops, but by this point Aaliyah just wanted to get off the streets and away from the crowds. And the sounds. _God_, even inside the store she could still hear the echoes of the voices, the cars, the click of shoes against pavements. Was Raven hearing this? She didn't seem bothered by it, but then again she was probably used to it-

She tried to concentrate on the clothes around her. The dresses were straight and reminded her of Jackie O, the pants were conservative high-waisted trousers…how could she _not_ have realized this was the sixties?

"See anything you like?" Raven asked.

_Not particularly_, Aaliyah thought. Though truthfully she hadn't really been looking. She still felt funny about this. No cash and now she was letting these people buy her clothes. And what exactly did they get out of it? Why even go through the trouble, she wondered again. Not Raven so much, as she was probably just following orders, but why was _Xavier_ being so…nice? People weren't 'nice' just for the heck of it, and the chances of her being able to pay them back were…less than slim.

What exactly was he expecting in return?

She wished Raven had taken her to a consignment shop instead. She wouldn't have felt as guilty buying second hand clothes-

"Are you sure you can afford this?" she blurted suddenly. Raven's mouth dropped open. _Oh God_, had she offended her?

"...I mean, I mean, you said your brother had class, didn't you?" she stuttered. "Maybe…ya'll shouldn't be buying me things," she finished awkwardly. She remembered living on a budget the years she'd been in college. And for some time after, too, up until the point she'd gotten a steady full-time job.

"And also-" she stopped. Raven was… _laughing_, her pale eyes dancing in mirth. Aaliyah really didn't think this was a laughing matter.

"It's okay, Li." she said finally, wiping her eyes. "Charles gets a monthly stipend. I doubt you'll make a dent in it, but I'm sure he'd appreciate your… concern." She laughed again.

_A monthly stipend_, she thought aghast. But that was even _worse_. The man didn't even support himself! That meant she was probably ripping off his poor elderly parents, instead. What if they were dipping into their retirement fund? She had an image of two poor dairy farmers, putting all their hopes and dreams for survival into their only son, sending their last bit of hard earned cash, possibly having to sell the family cow-

"_Oh God_, your face!" Raven dissolved into a fit of giggles that had her scowling. It also attracted the attention of a sales rep, a pretty brunette dressed in pale green, with her hair done up in a flipped bouffant that reminded her vaguely of Audrey Hepburn.

"May I help you?" She had a beautiful, British-y, voice. Not nearly as calming as Xavier's, Aaliyah thought, but maybe it had more to do with the fact that she had completely ignored her and directed the question solely at Raven. _Jesus Christ, this place_.

UK sizes were different from the scale of sizes in the US. Back home she typically wore an 8. But here, the 8's were…tiny. They seemed comparable to something a child would wear. She wouldn't even be able to fit her _thigh_ through this-!

Raven was no great help, either. Apparently, despite shopping for clothing, she'd never actually bothered to learn the difference in sizes between the two countries and was simply content to try on pieces until she found one that fit. "I brought most of my stuff from home," she explained a little sheepishly. "We're only here for Charles to finish out the school year, then it's back to New York..." _Great._

She _thought_ she might have a size converter on her phone… She started rummaging awkwardly through her purse before realizing that she'd never actually gotten it back from Xavier that day on the bench on Bedford. She hadn't thought about her phone all morning, but now that she _had_, she ached to have it. Despite the lack of signal, she still had music on it. And pictures…and a money converter, too, because she had no idea how to read pounds. Or whatever the currency here was-

Eventually the Audrey Hepburn looking rep pulled her to the back of the store and took her measurements. "You're a twelve," she declared briskly.

"_A twelve_?!," Aaliyah repeated in shock. And what a blow _that _had been_. _

She still tried on the clothes. Unfortunately the lady had been right. She really _was_ a twelve here. Shanique would have a fit if she were here. Another thing she noticed was that the clothes themselves didn't have that stretchy elastic feel to them. The fabric was also thicker, which wasn't necessarily a _bad_ thing, but it had the unfortunate side effect of making them feel even _more_ uncomfortable and stiff, like there was no give to the fabric. Another modern convenience, she guessed sourly. But at least they were at an area in history where females could wear pants.

She tried to choose pieces that could be worn in an office setting. Tapered trousers, straight knee length dresses. Both technically and legally speaking, she was an illegal immigrant here. On the off chance she _did_ manage to find a job, it would likely be something under the table…nothing she'd be able to actually take to a bank. That – combined with her skin color, since she didn't know what type of work blacks were allowed to do here – would severely limit her options. It already felt like she was breaking the law, she inwardly lamented.

Unfortunately, she felt like everything she tried on made her look like some illicit secretary who was having an affair with her boss. Maybe it was simply the style of the clothing. Or the cut. She couldn't place what it was. But she didn't see how these people could look at her 2014 clothes so critically when the women's clothing here seemed all but designed to cater to men's fantasies-

And the bras! They were… pointy and itchy and not nearly as comfortable as what she was used to. She didn't try on the underwear, but from what she saw, they were all high waisted and what they back home referred to as 'granny panties'. She hoped they weren't as uncomfortable as the bras. But even that didn't compare to the girdles and stockings and suspender belts Audrey Hepburn weaseled over.

"Women still wear these here?" Aaliyah had exclaimed in dismay. _God_, she'd thought she was past those days-! They hadn't worn these in the seventies...had they? Honestly she didn't know. Maybe this was just a UK thing? Weren't they more formal over here, anyways? Both Raven and the sales lady pinned her with equal looks of disbelief.

"They don't in Georgia?" Raven asked carefully. Audrey Hepburn sales lady sniffed.

"Okay this is really too much," Aaliyah protested. She didn't know how much this was costing, but she imagined it wasn't cheap. And additions like stockings and girdles weren't even _necessary_-

"She can't leave without stockings," Audrey Hepburn cut in, directing her statement (as usual) to Raven. Probably because she got some sort of commission off of this.

"_You're_ not wearing any," Aaliyah pointed out, gesturing to Raven's bare legs beneath her high boots.

"The youth have some amount of leeway, of course." Audrey Hepburn replied smartly. Aaliyah scowled, wondering just how old, (or young) Raven was.

"…you can't wear those dresses without them," hedged Raven carefully.

"I'll wrap them up for you then, shall I?" Audrey saleslady cut in. "And of course you _must_ get the suspender belt as well, to hold them up…" Yes of course, Aaliyah thought snidely. She wondered if Raven realized what the lady was doing_. And_ _had she just wrapped up that girdle too-? She hadn't even asked for that-!_

"We'll get something to eat after this," Raven interrupted, peeking through the window and out at the street.

"We just had breakfast," Aaliyah protested weakly.

"Uh no." Raven replied with an eye roll. "_I_ had breakfast. _You_ just sat there and thought of ways to get out of eating. And anyway that was hours ago."

_Was it?_ It was hard to keep track of the time here. The sky hadn't changed. The sun still hadn't appeared. If Raven was talking about food then it must really be lunch time. She wondered what time it was back home. There was a 5 hour time difference between London and the US east coast, she knew that much. Would everyone be asleep right now in her time?

Maybe not mama, she mused. This week she was on 2nd shift at the hospital. She was an RN over at Saint Mary's in Athens. She probably hadn't realized Aaliyah was even missing yet. Which was a _good_ thing, she told herself firmly. She'd need those few hours of peace before the storm-

She closed her eyes, willing herself not to think of it.

"You know," Raven said, breaking through the silence, "Charles and I never thought we'd meet anyone like you."

Aaliyah opened her eyes and stared blurrily at the girl.

"I mean, he _theorized_ that more had to exist," she continued, oblivious, "Because you know, evolution and genetics and all that-"

What the heck was she even talking about? Black people in Britland? It sounded like she'd missed half the conversation. Maybe she had; she _did_ have the tendency to tune things out sometimes.

"But I guess I never really thought that it was possible, y'know? It's just nice to have you here, I guess is what I'm trying to say," Raven said, smiling shyly. "Because, you know…you're one of us." She held out her hands in a _ta da!_ sort of gesture.

"Oh…" Aaliyah said slowly, because it looked like the girl was waiting for some kind of response. "You mean…American?"

Raven stared, her smile fading just slightly.

"Yeah," she said finally. "American."

O

**Guest**, **RoxanneRay**, **Gee Brittany**, **DaniNatureGirl**, **Trainee Hero**…THANX SO MUCH FOR YOUR REVIEWS. And **Ali**, unfortunately I couldn't respond to you since you don't have an account, but I really, REALLY appreciated your thoughts. I squealed the whole time reading your review! Lol. All of you really make my day. I had a bout of illness unfortunately, which was the reason for the delay. (the flu or a cold, not entirely sure which). Our two year old picks up these things from daycare, but for some reason the husband and I always get the brunt of it. Ugh.

Wasn't really happy with this chapter but I've been sitting on it for a while, and after the third re-write I realized the characters weren't going to do what I'd planned so…


	6. Chapter 6

O

**T**hey were in the study, bent over a chess game when Charles returned.

"Oh it's _easy!_" Raven had insisted, talking over the building white noise of the radio on the book shelf. "You've played Checkers before, right? It's like, practically the same thing, almost…"

_It was_ _nothing like checkers, _Aaliyah belatedly realized. _At all. _Certain pieces could only be moved in one direction and _only_ that direction. She kept losing track of which ones could go where, kept confusing her bishops and her pawns; she'd already lost her queen, somehow. It was an exhaustingly stressful game that required _way_ too much thinking and strategy, and she _hated_ thinking and strategy-

She'd wanted to say no. Wanted nothing more than to be left alone to sort through her thoughts...and maybe her purse, too, on the off chance that there might be something useful in it she'd missed. But for some reason, Raven seemed intent on staying near, (maybe in some misguided effort to be a good hostess?) and Aaliyah hadn't been able to figure out a way of politely declining her chess invitation without coming across as some ingrate. She bit her lip and stared at the mess of her pieces.

"See? You almost took out one of my knights," Raven explained, sounding like a seasoned pro. "Well done!" Aaliyah couldn't tell if the girl was serious or if she were legitimately mocking her.

"…um…no I didn't..."

"Well, no you _didn't_." The girl agreed. "You're pretty bad at this. I didn't think it was possible to be worse than me."

"I'm not really that in to games." _Not like Dré had been_. She fingered one of her rooks.

"What are you into?" Raven asked, but she barely heard her.

If she had come through a portal –_wormhole_ – did that mean there were possibly _others_ who'd come through as well? There were so many theories on time travel out there…maybe they weren't all completely fake? _Supposedly_ there was a stargate somewhere over in Iraq. She'd heard about it during an _Ancient Aliens_ marathon with Jenny one weekend. _What if she had gone through one?_

_Oh God _she was just grasping at straws now. Was she _actually_ considering _Ancient Aliens_ a reputable source of information-?

"Aliens?" Raven asked, looking confused. Aaliyah frowned. Had she said that out loud?

"No…no my roommate is the one obsessed with aliens," she said distractedly. She put the rook back on the board.

"That's an interesting obsession to have," a voice spoke. Xavier was standing near the study entrance, a leather bound messenger bag tucked neatly beneath his left arm. She hadn't noticed him before now, but for some reason she had the uncanny feeling he'd been standing there for a while.

"Charles!" Raven rose from her chair to peck him on the cheek. "Guess what? I'm not the worst player in the house anymore. Ha!"

Xavier stepped further into the room, dropping his bag on the sienna colored sofa and stopping just at the edge of the table, eyeing the board. "Yes, an amateur and a cheat. Quite the pair you make." Aaliyah's mouth fell open.

"Chea- Hold up… you were _cheating_?" She turned back towards the girl.

"Usually, but not this time. I think she has a soft spot for you, Miss Norwood." Xavier looked mildly amused.

Raven rolled her eyes in mock consternation. "She plays so bad it wasn't even necessary. No offense, Li."

Well there was _that_.

"I taught her to play." Xavier admitted. "It's a relaxing game but I'm afraid my sister is more interested in anarchy than order. " He smiled fondly, sliding into Raven's vacant seat and studying the scattered pieces on the board. "I enjoy playing. Though I suspect it may seem a bit…archaic to you, yes?"

She didn't know how to respond, so she didn't.

"In fact," he continued slowly at her silence, "I suspect most everything here seems that way to you." His lips twisted upwards into that halfway smile from before. Except that this time she found it slightly more alarming than charming.

"Well this _is_ Oxford," Raven remarked obliviously from across the room. "Everything about this place is old. Did you bring dinner?" Somehow it felt like Xavier and Raven were talking about two different things.

"I did."

"I hope it's not from that little corner restaurant again," the blonde griped. "I _hate_ that place-"

"Can't imagine why. I find it quite charming."

"Yeah you just like that waitress with the big-"

"_Raven!_" he sounded genuinely scandalized.

"What? I was gonna say big blue eyes. Where is your mind, Charles?"

Aaliyah watched the exchange with slightly damp eyes. She felt out of place here, as though she were eavesdropping on some private conversation. She'd teased _her_ brother like that, once upon a time. Last week actually. She had never thought she'd miss Dré like this. He was ten years her junior, they had few things in common, and he was, for the most part, a pain in the butt. But the thought of never seeing him again made it hard to breathe. She had to look away from the pair, concentrating instead on the chess board. Xavier had meticulously set each of the pieces back to their starting points.

"It's a great distraction," he murmured softly, following her gaze to the board. "And not nearly as stressful or exhausting as you're thinking, I assure you." She glanced up at him. It was _exactly_ what she'd been thinking. Was she so easy to read?

He stood abruptly, offering his hand. "Dinner awaits."

"I'm not…not really that hungry," she said. But he did not withdraw his hand, and she fought the urge to sigh, before reluctantly accepting. "We had a big lunch…" she tried again.

It wasn't a lie. _Not really._ They really _had_ stopped at some little joint on the way back for fish and chips. A large plate of it. (With a hefty side order of grease). Even so, Raven had somehow still managed to eat a good ninety percent of it; she didn't know where the girl kept it all.

Although she was now standing, Xavier hadn't released her hand yet, nor had he stepped back, and she fought the urge to pull away.

"Miss Norwood," he said finally, "I do hope you realize that two chips is in no way considered a meal." She couldn't help it. She swung around and shot an accusing stare at Raven, feeling decidedly ratted out.

Raven stared back, wide eyed and laughing. "I _swear_ I didn't tell him that! I told you this morning. He _knows_ things. Really. You can't hide _anything_ from him."

_Whatever_. It was the universal thought of every kid with an older sibling. Dré had probably thought the same thing about _her_-

"I do have a talent for reading people." Xavier said mildly. "I'd much rather those people just spoke about themselves, though. Much less intrusive, I feel. You look lovely, by the way."

He switched gears so fast it was hard to keep up, but she mumbled a thanks anyway. She'd changed into one of the outfits they'd bought today; a pair of periwinkle blue high-waisted pants with brass buttons, along with the matching long sleeved blouse. She'd thanked Raven profusely (if a little awkwardly) for them…and for the toiletries. Having deodorant and shampoo and conditioner, (as well as a tooth brush and toothpaste) _did_ make things more bearable, somehow.

Still, she felt something like an imposter. Like some… _thief_ wearing a period costume and living on borrowed time. She hadn't felt right from the moment she'd changed into the clothes, had immediately begun missing her old ones. If she were home, she'd have been in an old T-shirt and fuzzy socks, lounging on the couch watching Netflix. _Well…no,_ she corrected, depending on the time she'd actually be at work-

She sighed. Three days. Three days she'd been here with no sort of resolution in sight. She'd hoped they would pass by Bedford today while shopping, that she might've been able to convince Raven to walk down the street at least _once_, but whatever route the girl had chosen was apparently nowhere near Bedford, because she'd seen no sign of it. _I should have paid more attention when Xavier took me yesterday._ But she'd been a bundle of anxiety and nerves, then. She wondered if he could possibly be persuaded into taking her again.

…then again, after her previous display – with her behaving as little more than a raving lunatic - she doubted he'd want to be seen out with her anytime in the near future. If ever. She fought the urge to wring her hands. _No answers._ She might _never_ get any. Xavier tugged on her wrist, and she allowed herself to be led from the room.

Once seated at the table, she didn't know what to do with herself. She probably should have been more assertive about not being hungry, but any more protesting would've just been rude. Not only that, but Xavier for some reason seemed to take it as a personal affront when she didn't eat. Maybe it was a 'thing' in the sixties; guests had to eat to be polite or something like that. Or maybe it was cultural? Because Raven didn't seem nearly as bothered by it, but then again her brother talked and acted British while Raven herself had obvious American mannerisms-

_What was up with that anyway? Their different accents? _

The clothes they'd bought her, about eight days' worth, must have cost a small fortune. There had been no price tags anywhere on them, but that usually only happened in the more high dollar stores, she realized suddenly, guiltily. They'd already spent _way_ more money on her than she felt comfortable with. Why was he making a big deal out of this? It saved him money when she didn't eat. It was one less mouth to feed-

He turned to stare at her. _God, _she thought_. _ He couldn't have known what she'd been thinking, but the timing was so eerie that she found herself looking guiltily away. Beside her, Raven had already started eating, and Aaliyah had to stop herself from gaping at the girl. _No way this chick is hungry again_. _No way_ _she'd already burned through what had to be well over a thousand calories of the deep fried mess that had been the fish and chips_-

But Raven was scarfing it down as though she hadn't eaten all morning. Sure they had walked a great deal today, but the girl was eating like she'd just run a 10k marathon and needed to refuel- _None of my business_, Aaliyah thought, forcing away anymore wayward questions.

Instead, she turned her attention down to her plate, hoping to spur even a semblance of an appetite. It looked like some sort of pot pie (shepherd's pie?) with a side of peas, some kind of biscuit maybe and…and she didn't even know _what_ that other stuff was. Under normal circumstances she might have enjoyed it. (She _did_ like chicken pot pie, and the pie on her plate seemed similar) But the thought of eating _anything_ right now turned her stomach. Like _literally_. It felt like her stomach was doing flip flops. Even the smell of the food was making her nauseous. Eating those two fries (because they'd been more french fry than 'chip') had been effort enough; she'd been proud of the fact that she'd been able to force them down at all-

Maybe something in the way she'd come here, to this time, had affected her appetite. Like…like jet lag with flying. Come to think of it, she _had_ been feeling slightly drained. The bed sounded nice, but it'd be rude to excuse herself to nap in someone else's home. She resisted the urge to push away from the table, turning to Xavier.

"Raven said you had class," she began hesitantly, hoping that maybe small talk might distract her from her thoughts…and him from her lack of eating. "Do you teach?" Beside her, Raven gave a choking laugh.

"He _does_ look like a professor doesn't he? I've been saying that all along!" Xavier raised a brow.

"Do I now?" he asked. "Can't say I haven't heard _that_ before. I'm actually working on my thesis in genetics."

_Genetics?_ She hadn't realized they'd been advanced enough in this time to even know about that stuff.

"What do you wanna do with it? Your degree?" she asked politely, shuffling the food around on her plate.

"Oh I don't know. Maybe I _will_ teach," he said, pausing to raise his tea cup. "I do find the subject _fascinating_-"

"Here we go," Raven muttered.

"For instance, did you know that we humans are constantly evolving? With every generation there is something that wasn't quite there before-

"Like Down syndrome. Or Alzheimer's." Aaliyah offered. Her _granmoda_ had died with Alzheimer's. It had eaten away at her brain till there was nothing left except the incoherent ravings of a child. She winced. It wasn't something she liked to think of.

Across from her, Xavier's face clouded.

"Yes, well…that's actually more on the _degenerative_ end of things-" he began delicately.

"Isn't that what mutations are?" she said skeptically. "Degenerations? Amphibians only developed the ability to walk on land because the food and oxygen supply in the waters were dwindling-" And the only reason she knew this was because they'd set up a dinosaur week last summer in the children's section of the library.

"_Oh God_. Not you too," Raven groaned.

"Ah…but in the same vein, one could _also_ say it gave them the best of both worlds," Xavier said, pointedly ignoring his sister. "They _adapted_ for their _survival_-"

"Yes. I understand the whole 'adaption' thing," she interrupted. " but most of them lay their eggs in water. Their babies are like…an entirely different species from the parents until they mature. How is it helping their survival if they have to fend for themselves until they start growing legs? Most of them get eaten before they even make it to adulthood. If they really were improving genetically, they'd have evolved so that they could survive on both land and water immediately, without waiting to mature. And- "

"Can we _not_ talk about frog babies while we eat?" Raven asked.

"And that, my dear is entirely the point, is it not?" Xavier looked triumphant . Why, she didn't know, considering he hadn't made any real point, in her opinion. "_Something different_ that can do things its _predecessors_ can't. _That_ is mutation in its entirety."

She opened her mouth to disagree on principal, but Raven cut her off.

"_Please_ don't encourage him," she groaned. "Really. He'll never shut up about it if you rile him up."

She shut her mouth, unsure of how they'd even ended up in what sounded like a pseudo argument on evolution. She hoped she hadn't offended him. Offending the people she was currently dependent on was a stupid thing to do. Which reminded her-

"…how… easy is it to get a job over here?" Xavier seemed disappointed in the topic change.

"What sort of experience do you have?"

Automatically she opened her mouth to tell him about her degrees but then stopped because what was the point? She couldn't use them here anyway.

"I can type," she said instead. "I'm at 108 words per minute-" she stopped, suddenly remembering something. "But… ya'll are still on typewriters here, aren't you…?" she sighed.

"What else would you type on?" Raven asked sounding confused.

…although it couldn't be _that_ hard, working on a typewriter. As long as the letters were positioned in the same order as they were on a computer. Except that there'd be no 'delete' button if she messed up, and that might pose a problem. She could definitely work in a library, though. She had the experience (and the degree, however useless it was here) but there was the tiny issue of her not having a legal identity in this world that would pose the biggest problem. That and-

"What sort of work are black people allowed to do here?" She asked it quickly and in one breath, hating to speak it. It felt uncomfortable…_degrading_, even, to think that despite her experience she might be turned away because of her skin color.

The table went silent. Raven actually averted her eyes when she looked at her. Xavier cleared his throat and pushed away his tea cup.

"Perhaps the better thing to do for the moment is to accustom yourself to these surroundings, first." He said carefully. Which pretty much confirmed her fears that she'd probably only be hired as a janitor or maid or something _menial_-

"That isn't to say finding work will be _impossible_," he added quickly. "But you've had quite a big shock, and perhaps jumping back into the thick right now is a bit…much…" he trailed off, but she still found herself watching him with something akin to growing unease. It was… a silly thought, yes, but it _almost_ sort of sounded like he was talking about her situation. _Like he knew. _Actually now that she thought about it, he was taking this whole thing in stride, all things considered-

"Give it a few days," he said softly, leaning forward. "And I give you my word that I will take you into the city for a job."

_A few…NO._ She did _not_ want to wait 'a few days'. _She couldn't._ Being in this apartment with nothing but her thoughts and memories to replay…?

And waiting did nothing…_nothing_ for her future. If she was gonna be stuck here she needed a steady source of income. Xavier was kind but she couldn't stay here forever. He hadn't given any indication of putting her out, but Raven had mentioned that they lived in New York. There was no telling how much longer they'd be here. She needed to be _doing_ something. Establishing herself somehow-

"What's the date?" she asked. It came out as little more than a whisper. And even _that_ sounded frail and breathless. She swallowed and drew in a shaky breath.

"The 8th," Raven supplied. …which wasn't very helpful at all honestly, but maybe it was her own fault for not being more specific. She shut her eyes. If she asked for more details they might think her crazy. There was, after all, no excuse for her not to know the damn month and year. It was selfish, but she suddenly wished Shanique were there. Or Jenny or even Dré. _Anyone_ so she wouldn't have to be alone like this-

"It's the 8th of January," Xavier said. She opened her eyes. He was watching her carefully as he spoke, as though gauging her reaction. "1962."

_Nineteen sixt-?!_

The sound of loud, fuzzing, static sliced abruptly through the silence. It jarred Aaliyah from her racing thoughts. Raven leapt from her chair, racing from the kitchen. She was back only seconds later, holding the boxy radio from the study, the cord dangling listlessly behind her.

"I don't know why it keeps doing this," she complained. She laid it on the table next to Xavier, scooping up the cord. "It's been like this all day. It won't play anymore, on any of the stations. It just keeps picking up static. Can you fix it?" Xavier picked up the radio, turning it this way and that and looking utterly lost.

"Honestly Raven, you _know_ I'm pants at this sort of thing. Didn't you just purchase this? We'll take it back and get another…"

1962, Aaliyah thought again_. 1962!_ She'd been hoping that it was closer to _late_ sixties. But _this?_ Her mother would only be 5 years old. Daddy would be 8, and not even in the US right now-

But both sets of her grandparents were still alive. Mama's parents would be in Georgia, somewhere in Clark county, but Daddy's mama was currently in Jamaica. He and his older sister would not arrive in the US for another three years if she were remembering correctly. She'd never be able to get into the US without a passport, but… but it _might_ just be possible to get into Jamaica somehow, she realized. And she looked similar enough to that side of the family that she could probably pass herself off as some long lost distant relative…

_Granmoda_ currently lived somewhere in Montego Bay, working as a palm reader for the tourists. From the stories daddy had told, _moda_ had made a good money doing it. Even after arriving stateside, she'd continued reading to great success. Everyone was interested in knowing their futures, it seemed.

She might be able to pick it up too, she thought suddenly. It couldn't be _that_ hard; it was all fake anyway…based solely on vague observations of clothing, appearance, speech patterns…

Mama hadn't approved of it. She hadn't approved of anything that went against her strict southern Baptist upbringing, and her lips had always pressed into a thin disapproving line whenever _moda_ and auntie began speaking about that '_hoo doo root mess'_.

But mama wasn't here now; she'd never be here again, and survival was more pertinent than any negative connotations the profession might have. Palm reading was definitely preferable to a life of… _janitorial work_, which was probably the best she could hope for here without any legitimate educational records. She had no idea what sort of place Jamaica had been in the sixties, but it couldn't possibly be any worse than 1962 Georgia, could it? Right now, Georgia was probably open season for the klan-

She shuddered. If there was ever a reason _not_ to go to Georgia, that was definitely it. _Jamaica it is, then_, she thought firmly.

She'd need a plane or ship to get there, though, and tickets cost money. Without any identification it was doubtful they'd even let her board, but surely there had to be a way around that. Illegal aliens got into the US all the time. There were _children_ crossing the border with seemingly no problem. If they could get into the US in 2014, it couldn't be that difficult to get into 1962 Jamaica, could it?

Still, she'd need money to do that. It was even more critical that she find a job now, and waiting even a few days seemed counter-productive-

She glanced up again, expecting to see her two hosts engaged over the faulty radio. And Raven _was_; her blonde hair forming a curtain around her, her pretty face screwed in concentration. But Xavier wasn't. His blue gaze locked with her own. _Knowingly_, she thought. And for the second time that day, she felt as though he were reading her like an open book.

O

**Guest**, **Trainee Hero**, **shejams**, **Daninaturegirl**, **Guest**, **RoxanneRay**, **LunaEchoWillow**, **Melissa** **hearts** **fiction**, **DGfleetfox**, **Guest**, **Annabelle-Dream**, THANX so much for your reviews! I can't tell you how encouraging they are. And thanx to everyone who fav'd or followed and any silent lurkers.

I apologize for the lateness of this. This is actually the third draft of this chapter. I can't really bring myself to post anything I'm not at least 90 % satisfied with. I've got the whole story plotted out, but the issue (for the past two chapters) is that nothing is happening the _exactly _the way it's supposed to. (You writers out there know what I'm talking about) The characters pretty much did what _they_ wanted instead of what I was trying to _make_ them do, but I guess that's the way it goes sometimes.


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